Fake Dating My Ex’s Favourite Hockey Player
Chapter 130
Next thing I knew, I was pulled into a chair beside her and appointed Official Company of the Day. Apparently, I didn’t get a choice in the matter.
Now, here I am. Questioning all my life decisions.
Irma takes a sip of her mimosa like she’s doing me a favour by hanging out.
“How does your boyfriend survive you?” I ask, genuinely curious.
Irma freezes. Her eyes narrow into little slits. “Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed
to mean?
Uh–oh.
Behind her, I spot a familiar silhouette–Céline, my sweet French angel – and nearly drop to my knees in gratitude. Salvation.
I jump to my feet with zero shame and slap on the fakest smile known to mankind. “Oh no, I think my friend needs help with… um… something. Yeah. She’s struggling to breathe. Gotta run! Wishing you the best in life!”
“What?! Wait! We’re not done here!” Irma screeches, but I’m already power–walking like my
life depends on it.
And in a way, it does.
Céline’s just outside the breakfast court, heading toward one of the little cruise shops. She’s got a digital camera hanging around her neck and is squinting at the settings like they personally offended her. She’s muttering under her breath in French, pressing buttons like she’s trying to deactivate a bomb.
“Céline! I call, grinning so wide it hurts.
She jumps like she’s been tased. The camera slips right out of her hands but, thank God, the strap catches it mid–air. She gasps, clutches her heart, and lets out a dramatic sigh when
she realises it’s safe.
Then she looks up at me with a tired little smile, brushing hair from her face like she’s in a shampoo commercial. It actually makes me groan inside.
“Emilia,‘ she breathes. “You scared me.”
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Chapter 130
I sigh like someone watching a romance movie. “Your hair is so perfect, it’s criminal. You run your hand through it and it just… flows. Like a heroine in a French film.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
“No, I’m being honest. My curls eat my fingers for breakfast.”
I loop my arm through hers and lean into her like we’ve been besties since birth. Then I peek at the camera screen she’s holding up — there’s a photo of the ocean, right before sunset, and it’s breathtaking.
–
“Is this yours?” I gasp. “Céline! You’re so talented. Like, actually. I’m mad. How are you good at photography and perfect–looking?”
Her cheeks flush the softest pink. “Oh, stop. I’m not that good.”
“Lies. If I posted that photo, people would think I’m on a private yacht with a billionaire and three gold–dipped swans.”
She snorts and nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”
I’m about to say something equally ridiculous when bam – open and chaos comes screeching.
the doors behind us swing
“Emilia? Emilia!” Irma’s voice slices through the air like a bad ringtone. “Where do you think you’re going? We are not done, and you didn’t even finish your meal!”
Next to me, Céline freezes like she’s just heard a ghost. I sigh, already dreading what’s coming, and turn around.
Irma’s stomping toward us like she’s about to throw a plate at my head. Her eyes are wild, her expression murderous. For a second, I genuinely consider hiding behind Céline. But then,
everything changes.
She spots Céline. And stops dead in her tracks.
“You?” Irma blinks like she’s seen a ghost. Her lips curl in that ugly way people try to disguise as a smile. “Unbelievable. Becca really invited every stray she found on the sidewalk.”
Céline’s fingers wrap around her camera like it’s a weapon. Her voice? Cool, sharp, and dangerous.
“Wow,” she says. “Still playing the high school villain, huh? You’d think all that paparazzi attention would’ve humbled you. Guess you really can’t buy class.”
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Fake Dating My Ex’s Favourite Hockey Player
C
